A Cuppa In the Cold
by Otter Child
Summary: A fine moment, taken between two men who never had enough time.


The leaves were turning colors all around the city. Even the wind that sighed in over the bay from the sea was different, sharp and biting, carrying an edge of winter that the pale sun held back only at the height of afternoon. If you closed your eyes and tipped your head up to the sun, you could almost pretend it was summer. But not for long.

Ianto Jones didn't mind the seasons changing. It was nice to see, in a way. Sometimes it felt as if their world and their work was all night clubs and the Hub and the inside of cars at night, always the same. Sitting out here reminded you of how real the world was, how it moved, made you a part of it again for a while. He leaned back against the bench. The weatherman said rain was on the way in a few hours. He couldn't be far off. A Welsh weatherman had an easy job of it; just forecast rain in the near future, and you're spot on. But for now the sky was clear. Ianto sighed. He was warm, he had a hot drink in his hands, and life was good.

He didn't know why the others thought general city surveillance such a chore. He rather liked the time to sit outside, sit by himself and think. The briefcase by his side whirred almost imperceptibly. Inside, he knew that a number of gizmos were taking all the readings that the Hub machines couldn't get directly. But he liked to pretend, sometimes, that it was filled with briefs or papers or a report, and he was just another bloke taking his time finishing his coffee and getting back to the office. Not that his job wasn't one of the best around. But sometimes…well, sometimes it was nice to get a chance to breathe.

A cool wind ruffled up the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Reflexively, he reached to turn up his jacket collar.

"You look cold. Should've worn a hat."

The warm voice turned Ianto on instinct. He smiled slightly.

"Couldn't find one that matched the coat, sir."

Jack dropped into the bench with boneless ease beside him.

"Drop the Sir, Ianto."

"Yes Jack."

The other man rolled his eyes slightly, staring out over the Bay. To this day, Jack could surprise him with the silent way he walked. It was a funny thing. When he felt like it, Jack could be the loudest of men. But left to his own devices, he was almost catlike.

Jack sighed, looking out. For a moment, Ianto wasn't sure what to say. The silence stretched between them.

"So what're you doin' up here?"

Jack glanced at him with lazy sapphire eyes. "Sitting on a bench and enjoying the sun."

Ianto frowned, and Jack shot him a smile that might have been mocking or commiseratory.

"What, you think you're the only one who enjoys a chance to sit outside and feel the wind on his face?"

Ianto shrugged noncommittally. Jack stretched his long legs out in front of him.

"Unlike our dear Owen, I'm not adverse to daylight. I like having a tan, thanks very much. I like to think of it as a good influence. Show these Welsh and English a healthy male specimen and maybe they'll think about working on the flab and pasty complexions. Improve the whole race."

Ianto couldn't help a smile at that.

"You do know you're insulting my heritage, Jack."

Jack gave him a crooked smile. "I insult your whole timeframe on a regular basis. You never comment on that. Besides, I like some things Welsh." Glancing at the younger man, he nodded at the cup in his hands.

"Good cooking. Good weather." His eyes traveled up, meeting Ianto's.

"Good men."

Ianto smiled wryly. "Thought you said we were pasty."

"You are. But sometimes that works. Pale skin, dark hair…" Reaching out a hand, Jack brushed fingers through Ianto's hair, leaving a trail of heat against chilled skin.

"Bred for the cold." Ianto said. It was the only thing he could think to say, and Lord did it sound pointless. Jack didn't seem to mind though. In fact, he moved closer, putting an arm around the younger man's shoulders.

"I noticed." He murmured close to Ianto's ear. "Plenty of body heat."

If he kept this up Ianto was going to turn bright red, and he knew it.

"Want a cuppa?" he asked, proffering the cup in his hands.

"Coffee?"

"Yes."

"Thanks." Jack took a long, contemplative sip, his arm warm around his partner. The sensation was delicious as the sunlight overhead.

This, Ianto thought, was the real reason he continued to call Jack, his Jack, by a polite title. There had to be something there to remind him he was at work, on duty. If he didn't make that distinction, sometimes Ianto thought he'd assume his whole purpose was to be near this man.

Jack took another swallow of coffee. But instead of handing it back, he set the cup on the ground. Now both his hands were on Ianto's shoulders, and he was being pulled, pulled ever so gently backwards.

"Jack…" They never did something like this outside. He'd never sat out so public with girls, much less with…

"Relax. I've got you."

Well, how could he resist that voice? His head was pillowed in Jack's lap now, his body melted out along the bench.

"Something else Welsh that I like." Jack said quietly, running his fingers meditatively through Ianto's hair.

"Hmm."

"Your language. Can't figure it out, even after six years of study. I gave up on it, but it always sounded nice."

"Mm." The feeling of Jack's hands warmed him down to his core. So perfect. So right.

"Then…here's something in Welsh for you, then."

"Oh?"

Ianto spoke the words, letting them run over his tongue the way his aunt had taught him, words that sounded like 'doo-een duh garee-dee', though he couldn't remember how they were spelled for the life of him.

In Welsh, they were 'I love you'

Jack nodded. "So what's that mean?"

Ianto shrugged, eyes still closed.

"I'll tell you later, shall I?"

Jack laughed softly.

"Ianto Jones, you're a tease."

Ianto nodded, relaxing deeper into Jack's lap.

"If you say so."

Jack stroked slow fingers through his hair as he lay, sunlight gilding his closed eyes. His lover's other hand rested on Ianto's chest. Against it, Ianto could feel his own heart beat.

Ianto sighed in perfect contentment. For now, the sky was clear. He was warm. He lay in his lover's arms. For now, in this moment, life was made of heat, sunlight, and Jack's hands, the smell of Jack's pheromones, the scent of leather and wool and falling leaves. Life was so much better than good. Here and now, if you closed your eyes and tipped your head up, you could almost pretend it was perfect.


End file.
